The Rise & Fall of Harry Potter
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The story really begins here, where we go into Harry's life under abusive relatives. For those haters of Abused-Harry, you need not worry. Harry will no longer have to suffer the presence of those half-swines after this chapter.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its characters belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing, except for anything which you do not recognize.
A/N: Firstly, a big 'Thank You' to all who have reviewed. You made my day :) Next, the family Harry is to be placed with is not the Malfoys, nor going to be the Zabinis. I want a canon family that looks Dark, yet one which we know very, very little off. Besides, I have plans for the Zabinis to be a Light family. Not all Slytherin families are dark, you know? But this one is different. While they won't be supporters of Voldemort (Neutral in the war they are), they are no less evil than the likes of Black, Lestrange and Malfoy. (You get the drift?).
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Chapter 1: Forlorn Hope
The home is supposed to be a shelter for all things negative to its occupants. It is supposed to be a place where comfort and safety is guaranteed; the last place where one would come to harm. No matter what the rest of the world thought of a person, the home would always remain loyal, silently standing over him, sheltering him from the elements, external influences and opinions.
Number 4 Privet Drive would look like a perfect example of this. Just by looking in from the outside, the place seems to be a source for a semblance of comfort with its lush, green immaculate lawns, stately Victorian-style carved wooden door, large and posh looking interior.
However, that is not the case for one of its occupants, for a house can offer no protection against danger from within.
An eight-year old bespectacled boy lay on his bed shivering. He was severely malnourished, looking almost like a bag of bones. The word 'skinny' cannot even be used to describe his frame. Numerous cuts and welts could be seen on his stick-thin arms. His otherwise handsome looking face was marred by bruises on the cheeks and forehead. His 'room' was nothing more than a cramped, dusty and overstuffed cupboard that lay under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive. He lay in the darkness, waiting for the inevitable to occur. Darkness because the sole hanging lamp in the cupboard had fused 2 years ago, and his Uncle Vernon would no sooner replace it than build a shrine to worship the boy.
He was seriously starting to develop a chill now. The trembling and shivering of his body had, far from subsided, became worse. Aunt Petunia had forced him to weed the garden an hour ago despite the heavy downpour. The cold wind practically bit into him like ravenous fangs of ice, the reason for his predicament now. Or rather, one of the reasons.
In this world, he was nothing more than a useless, disgusting freak. That's what had been drilled into his head since he was born. He was merely a slave, a tool for his relatives to vent their anger on, a waste of valuable resources, a being unworthy of life…
The ironic thing was, in another world, he was a hero, a boy who practically everyone revered and worshipped; a boy whom families would kill to adopt, a boy whom girls young and old alike see as an idol. For he was Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived and the vanquisher of one of the greatest Dark Wizards magical Britain had ever seen.
However, his relatives who were Muggles, Non-Magical folk, treat the magical world with outmost contempt. To them, Magic was an abomination, unclean and dangerous. Anyone born with it should be shunned, or better yet, purged and culled. When an infant Harry was left on their doorsteps, Vernon Dursley had half a mind to drown the baby into a nearby lake, but was reluctantly stopped only by his wife.
From the day Harry could walk, he was made to serve. Cooking, sweeping, cleaning, and washing, you name it, he had to do it. Meals were nothing more than a thin, stale slice of bread and a small glass of water. But the duo and their overgrown son more or less left him alone, apart from the usual curses and swearing. That was the better half of his young life.
Matters soon started for the worse, with Harry's life going down a downward spiral.
3 years ago, Uncle Vernon was fired by Grunnings, the drill company which he worked for, for misappropriation of company funds; a deed he had the guts to carry out but not admit, shamelessly proclaiming his innocence till the point he had to be forcibly dragged out of the workplace. No sooner after that, Dudley Dursley was expelled from Stanton Junior School for brutally beating up a younger kid, which may I add, being short and thin, coupled with having to battle with quite a number of debilitating inherited diseases, was completely unable to defend himself. The school officials were horrified by the incident and declared that "No foul, inhuman creature like you will ever taint the grounds of Stanton Junior again". Petunia Dursley firmly believed her beloved 'Dudders' would never carry out such a vile act, and had raged with the officials for hours before the police constables were forced to step in.
The family wondered what could be the source of their string of bad luck, never ever thinking for once that it could originate from themselves. Their search narrowed down to one boy: Harry Potter. Only the ungrateful, filthy miscreant could have stooped so low to curse them, jinx them, trying to plunge their 'normal', hardworking family into crisis. And he should be punished for daring to perform such evil, malicious sins…
Ever since then, Harry's popularity in the family rose. Not in the positive way. For starters, his already significant workload had increased almost exponentially. Since he was a freak and thus not human, he should not be bothered by mere elements. Harry had to do his chores, which now included outdoor ones even in extreme weather, be it sweltering heat, frostbiting cold, or a severe thunderstorm, like the one in full action now. If he was deemed not to be 'up to task', Harry would graciously be rewarded by a solid 'Thwack!' on the forehead by his Aunt's frying pan. But it was his Uncle Vernon who truly filled his heart with undiluted fear and terror.
Harry shuddered at the thought. This was something far worse than a cold or a whack from a pan. His Uncle Vernon liked to spend what he called, 'quality time' with him. Quality time involved a meaty fist, a leg the size of a tree trunk, and Harry, of course. On certain days when his Uncle was feeling cheerful and upbeat, another factor was added into the simple mathematical equation: A 4-foot long whip made of thick, tough rhinoceros hide called a sjambok and affectionately named 'Whippy' by his uncle. The thought of it brought back painful memories.
"Boy! Aren't you lucky today? Whippy is paying you a visit." CRACK!
"You should be thankful that Whippy here does not mind your freakishness!" CRACK! CRACK!
"Uncle Vernon! Please stop it! Plea…" CRACK! His uncle had demonic look of glee in his face as he swung the whip at his thigh again.
Harry tried to banish the thought, though had little success. Even in his sleep, he was not let off. Nightmares of various beatings had constantly plagued his dreams.
His eyes turned onto the flaphole by instinct. As he was a worthless freak, food should not be wasted on him. A slice of bread was thrown through the flaphole only when his relatives feel generous- which was very, very rarely. Only enough to keep him alive, or the family would lose their precious servant. The flaphole had not seen a crumb pass through it for at least 10 days now.
SLAM! The sound of the main doors being crashed open reverberated through the house, causing a good amount of sand, dirt and cracked plaster to fall from the ceiling of Harry's cupboard. But he was too distracted to worry about a minor thing like that.
No! Please. Not him! Please let it not be him!
CREAK. CREAK. CREAK. CREAK.
The sound of heavy, unmistakable footsteps could slowly be heard nearing his 'room'. Harry rolled himself into a ball, clutching his legs tightly, as though trying to squeeze himself out of existence, trying to avoid the inevitable.
Why? Why do I have to suffer such a life? What had I done to deserve this?
A loud cackle could be heard now. "Freak, freak, freak, have you been missing your dear uncle? I should think so, because I certainly missed YOU!" His uncle's voice was low and slurred, perhaps due to the having returned home from another drinking spree. Harry also never failed to notice the underlying cruelty laced in his voice.
The door was roughly pulled open, nearly ripped from its hinges. Uncle Vernon stood by the entrance, his whale-like frame almost entirely blocking it. Basked by the warm, yellow lights, a cruel, inhuman expression could be seen on his face, which slowly contorted into a sick saccharine smile.
"Your Aunt Petunia told me that you have been tardy in your chores. As idiotic as you freaks naturally are, I nevertheless expected you to know that laziness is not accepted in this house. I must admit that I am disappointed with you…", he said in a mock sad voice, shaking his head emphatically.
He strode towards Harry, grabbed him roughly by his loose and ragged shirt's cuff and delivered a solid punch to his face. Harry fell back against the bed, hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness. His lip had split open, and he could vaguely taste the coppery smell of his blood flowing freely from the wound. Harry slowly stood up, trying to orientate himself, when a heavy boot smashed into his already weak gut, causing him to double over in pain, falling to the floor.
"Stop it. Please, Uncle Vernon. Please..." His voice was faint and could hardly be discerned.
Harry then noticed that murderous, slightly insane glint in his uncle's eyes as he raised the boot high over his head. It was then that Harry made a decision that was long due. Rolling to the side to avoid the large 'STOMP!' of his uncle's boot, he sprang up past the swine, turning towards the doorway.
"You miserable creep! I'll skin you alive!"
His uncle turned around and tried to land a forceful backhand on him but missed. Mustering up whatever courage and energy his frail body still possessed, Harry spun out of the open doorway, past the carefully cleaned and maintained dining area and barreled left towards the main doors.
"HOW DARE YOU! GET BACK HERE, FREAK! I WILL BREAK EVERY SINGLE BONE IN YOUR BODY WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU FILTHY MUTT", Vernon bellowed, a purple look of outmost rage on his face as he tried to catch up with the boy in vain.
Harry winced as a glass plate shattered on the floor just inches from him, the sharp fragments grazing his leg. BANG! Harry was thankful that his momentum kept him going or he would have frozen with shock as he watched a bullet lodge itself into one of the partition walls.
Uncle Vernon tried to shoot me.
His mind was still trying to comprehend that fact. Pushing with all his might against the heavy wooden doors, he ran out back into the thunderous downpour, without giving Number 4 Privet Drive a last glance.
Harry ran like the wind, ignoring the relentless fall of rain pounding against his body, and the chilly winds enveloping him. Running on and on, without a care for directions, never stopping or faltering.
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How long have I been here? 3 days? Have I really lost track of time that fast?
Harry knew neither his location, nor how far he had walked. He had crossed numerous rivers, cut through his fair share of forest, treaded along vast, seemingly never-ending highways, watching as cars after cars sped past him, without any care for the now homeless and sick-looking child.
He had eventually come to a large city, with huge, ancient-looking historic buildings and towering skyscrapers. Street after street he passed, until he felt like he could move no more, and settled down by a wall in a deserted back-alley, his current position now.
He had not had a scrap to eat for nearly a fortnight now. Every single person that he passed went by without sparing him a second glance, much less help him. Probably due to him looking for all he was worth like a runaway vagabond. But now Harry was hoping against hope that it would not rain. He could see stormy, gray thunderclouds forming in the sky above, and seriously doubt his body could withstand another drenching, as he had nowhere to seek shelter from.
While a home maybe a haven of comfort and safety, the outside world is a totally different case altogether. The world had teeth and it could bite you with them whenever it wanted to. This, Harry had discovered the hard way.
But going back to Privet Drive was out of the question even for a complete fool. He would be dead before the end of an hour. The only choice was to pit himself against the test of time, hunger and sickness…
Snap yourself out of this depression, Harry. What will you do now and in future, if you even have one, he mentally chided himself.
He was rudely interrupted in his train of thought by a loud, whip-like CRACK! Harry flinched, memories of a horrendous whip filling his mind once again. Looking up, he saw a man, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.
My body condition was worse than I thought. I must be seeing things. How could a man appear out of nowhere? Wake up, Harry. Or is this what people call hallucinations?
The man was tall, dressed impeccably in a crisp, brown business suit. He had a lean physique, jet black hair tied back in a short, elegant ponytail. His face was the most striking thing though, well-chiseled features, a short nose and hard blue eyes that flashed with an innate cunningness. Pursed thin lips and a dark expression completed the impression that this was not somebody to be trifled with. Also, the very way the man carried himself- the self-confidence and dignity he exuded gave Harry a feeling that this was probably some rich and powerful aristocrat.
"Bloody Muggles. I should never have agreed to venture out into this land of filth", the man muttered angrily to himself, before looking up and noticing Harry for the first time.
The man looked up to see a small, frail and sickly bespectacled boy lying by a desecrated wall, staring back at him with a startled look and a queasy expression on his face.
He inwardly cursed. Being spotted Apparating by a child of Muggle scum; can today get any worse?
The boy slowly got up, and began to edge away from him nervously. Deftly drawing out his wand, he pointed it at the boy, who was about to turn and start running.
"Petrificus Totalus"
Harry saw the man remove a thin black wooden stick from his inner pockets. He could not for the life of him, understand what said man would do with the puny looking wooden rod. But whatever it is, Harry did not like it one bit.
Prevention was better than cure, in any case. Harry decided that the best course of action would be to flee. His mind, having gone through years of abuse and sully was screaming out to him: RUN! No sooner had he turned around when he heard something indiscernible being muttered. A split second later, he felt his arms and legs snapping together, causing him to keel over, stiff as a board and completely unable to move. Harry tried to struggle and break whatever invisible bonds that have ensnared him, but found that he could not even move a finger.
What the hell? How on earth did he bind me?
The man walked over to Harry. He could see the fear and apprehension reflected from the boy's brilliant emerald green orbs. However, along with the fear, he also noticed curiosity and a slight awe in the boy's eyes.
He walked over to the fallen, immobile child and raised his wand once again, this time aiming for the head.
A slight gust of wind blew past them, whipping Harry's fringe to the side, enough to expose the thin lightning-bolt shaped scar which stood out on his otherwise porcelain forehead like a sore thumb.
"Obliv-"
It can't be! Or can it? Praise Salazar, it is Harry Potter! But what on earth could THE Harry Potter be doing looking like a young vagrant in Muggle London?
But the boy could be useful to us, could he not? Indeed…
A cold, calculative look suddenly spread across his features as a thought sparked in his brain in a flash of neurons. His family was one of the few ancient pureblood lines, with history dating back to almost the Middle Ages, but never treated with the respect or commanding influence a certain others enjoyed, namely the Malfoys and the Blacks. But with Harry Potter on their family, the balance of power could be thrown wide open, wider than possible imagination, and in ways more than one.
And who knows what other options the boy could open to our line. But with him we will definitely scale to greater heights. I will make sure of that.
"Listen carefully, boy, for I will not repeat this a second time. I will release the spell and return to you your mobility. I warn you to stay where you are. Any attempts to run and you will regret it."
"Finite Incantatem"
The man watched as Harry began to wriggle his hands and feet, the ability to move returning back to him. His eyes were full of mistrust and wariness, yet at the same time, a large awe.
"How did you-"
"Tell me what you know about magic", he responded coolly and smoothly, cutting the boy off.
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The man observed the boy carefully, as he explained the magical world and the young child's true status.
"So you are saying that I am a wizard too?", he asked, voice betraying his confusion.
"Yes. I certainly did say that, or are you deaf?"
Looking at the boy's physical state and attire, it pointed to only one thing: Abuse. More likely than not at the hands of some disgusting Muggle relatives the meddling old fool Albus Dumbledore had placed him with.
Also, judging from the gleam in the boy's eyes, there was no mistaking how impressed he was at the power a single wand could channel and wield. And he was curious for more. Harry Potter had just experienced how a single spell can cause a man, no matter how big and strong, to be rendered immobile, and would no doubt desire to learn and utilize this power himself.
He was more than ready to exploit the boy's sense of misery, innate yearning and curiosity towards magic, the security and power it could guarantee. He carefully phrased his offer.
"It is obvious that your guardians have not treated you too kindly", he began, watching as Harry Potter hung his head down in shame and embarrassment, staring at his feet.
"There is nothing to be ashamed of. You are just a young boy, completely defenseless against such uncivilized, barbaric Muggles. Only they can find it within themselves to cruelly abuse and beat you up. We wizards should never have tolerated them. And others wondered why we purebloods hate the Muggles so much.
I however, am willing to take you in. Our family could use another son. I will offer you a home where you can find shelter, lodgings, food, protection and comfort. I will train you in magic if you would like, so that no Muggle can ever hope to lay a hand on you again. I can teach you how to transfigure your relatives into pigs. I can teach you how to make horrible boils and pustules erupt on their faces. I can teach you how to bind them, or freeze them in their tracks. In future, I can even help you master spells that can maim or permanently blind, rendering any Muggle with negative intentions from getting within a foot of you. I can do all this and more, if only you are willing."
Harry felt as though his mind was being torn in two. On one hand, he felt that he could not trust this man. In actual fact, Harry seriously doubted if he could ever fully trust anyone again. Furthermore, this man was a virtual stranger, and Harry found it hard to tell his true feelings from the man's emotionless mask. This was not about spending a day or two with the mysterious man and his family, it was a lifetime. There is always a possibility that the man and his family might be out to do him harm, just like the Dursleys.
Don't go into there. Enough about them.
On the other hand, Harry seriously did not know what his future would hold in this decrepit alley. Would he even survive to have a future? The man here told him that he truly belonged in a different world, and had no reason to lie about that. He was offering to Harry a real home and a place in his family. Something that Harry had never experienced before. The stranger was also willing to teach him magic. That strongly appealed to Harry. With magic, he would never again be bullied. With magic, he can be strong. With magic, he could gain power. Power to protect and defend himself, power to turn the tables against those that have ill-treated him, power to rewrite his forlorn destiny and power to carve a name for himself in the annals of history…
"I guess you are not interested in my offer. I will take my leave now", the man said, beginning to exit the alley.
"Wait! Will you really-"
"Yes I will", the stranger said firmly without turning around.
Harry knew he could not resist such an offer. "I will come with you."
The man turned to face him once again, a small smile on his lips.
"You have made the right decision.
My name is Alpheus", the man said, extending a hand.
"Alpheus Greengrass"
There! I present to you the noble line of Greengrass. Harry's attraction to the lure of power is also starting to show itself. Something that Alpheus is planning to make use of, along with his fear and terror towards his Muggle relatives, to instill and fan the flames of hatred towards Muggles in Harry. As Yoda says: Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hatred, hatred leads to suffering. And suffering- it is the path to the Dark side.
I must first warn readers that this fic will not feature a badass, rebellious, Dumbledore-hating Harry, who is generally still good at heart. This Harry will grow up to be insidious, ruthless and evil (Though he won't totally sink into the Darkness until after 7th year and Voldemort's death). I will try to make it as realistic as possible though.
The quote "The world has teeth and it could bite you with them whenever it wanted to." comes from Stephen King's novel 'The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon'. I highly recommend it. While it isn't really of the horror genre, its level of description is so great, it would kick my socks from here to the edge of the universe and back again :P
The title for this chapter is inspired by Elssha's excellent fic, 'Forlorn Hope'. It is one of the few Severitus fic that I would actually read. (The others are Prometheus Bound and Not Myself.)
I once again thank all my reviewers. Thanks for giving me your opinion on this fic. To the rest of the readers, please review and tell me what you think of this fic. Suggestions are always welcome.
To express my gratitude, I shall reveal some of my intentions for another major character- Sirius Black. This fic, apart from being Dark-Harry, will be Dark-Sirius as well. After escaping from Azkaban in Harry's third year, Sirius Black is not a happy man. He has been totally and utterly betrayed by almost everybody he knows. Firstly, Wormtail who turned traitor to Voldemort. Then Remus, Dumbledore and the rest of his friends and Order members who condemned him and did not aid him in demanding for a trial. Sirius will be very OOC, only similarity he has with the canon version being his love for Harry as his godson, whom he will look up when he has escaped. Both will share similar aims which will be mentioned in due time. Sirius will be one of the catalysts to Harry's complete descension into the Darkness. The world had better beware, for the dark and evil side that every Black possesses is about to rear its ugly head in Sirius Black…
Next chapter we will see Alpheus trying to gain custody of Harry, having a run-in with Dumbledore in the process. Also, we will see Harry entering the Greengrass' ancestral home, and facing their formidable family.
Lucullus